


Behind Closed Vaults

by NeverNik



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Friendship, Gringotts Wizarding Bank, Leaky Cauldron, Romance, Romantic Comedy, Summer Vacation, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-25 08:49:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15637314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeverNik/pseuds/NeverNik
Summary: Hermione and Draco are interning at Gringotts Wizarding Bank over the school holidays before their Seventh Year begins at Hogwarts. Hermione is thrilled; Draco rather less so. Hermione's had a crush on curse-breaker Bill Weasley for years; now's her chance to show him how she feels! Whereas it's all Draco can do to stave off the irritation of having to work with three of the most randy wizards in the Muggle-Wizard Foreign Exchange department.But anything could happen behind closed vaults...





	1. End of Sixth Year

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Strictly Dramione’s Summer Loving – Back to School Writing Fest 2018.  
> Alt universe: no Voldemort; Bill hasn’t been attacked by a werewolf. No particular reason why. But surely there’s more to Bill Weasley than a scar and a liking for rare meat?  
> Certain canon events and people’s ages don’t make sense. It’s okay. It's just fiction.  
> Rated M for language and references to sex.  
> Thanks to coyg_81 for the scrumptious cover; LightofEvolution for suggesting the title; and La BelladoneX for supporting me through some ‘fadhbanna fear.’ I’m indebted, ladies.  
> I only own the plot of this poor tale. J K Rowling owns the Harry Potter universe; for which I humbly thank her.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> People are making holidays plans, but those have already been made for Hermione and Draco.

 

At Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the school year was about to end. The vast majority of the students in Sixth Year had collapsed with exhaustion, draping themselves around their respective House Common Rooms, utterly shagged from the exhaustive toil of exams.

Except for one person.

Ron Weasley opened a bleary eye and squinted across Gryffindor’s Common Room floor - upon which he was lying - at the cheerful fireplace, where Hermione Granger was talking nineteen to the dozen to his sister Ginny, who was nodding and uh-huh-ing in all the right places while trying not to fall over from sheer boredom.

‘I’m so excited, I can barely wait for holidays to begin!’ Hermione gushed, hopping from one leg to another.

‘So I see,’ Ginny murmured faintly. ‘You’re certainly very motivated about spending your holidays working in a bank.’

Ron closed his eye. ‘She’s banging on about her internship at Gringotts again,’ he mumbled to Harry Potter, who was sprawled out next to him.

‘Gods,’ Harry muttered, lazily spelling a cushioning charm to make his sojourn on the floor a wee bit more comfy. Curse his good manners in letting the girls get all the actual furniture to sprawl on! ‘How she can get so excited about working through her holidays is beyond me.’

Hermione, oblivious to the lack of interest swirling around her, hugged a special secret to herself. She’d completely lucked out on her application and scored an internship in the most exciting of the venerable bank’s departments – Curse-Breaking. But that wasn’t the best part!

The best part was that she’d get to work, up close and personal, with... _him._

She blushed prettily.

Bill Weasley.

Oh Lord, what a honey he was! Lean, laid-back, long hair, _phenomenally_ smart, looked a dangerous job in the eye every day and said ‘What else have you got?’

He was _so cool_.

He was _so_ _hot!_

She’d had a crush on him since forever, but he’d always treated her as kid sister number two, just as he’d always treated Harry as kid brother number... um... seven or thereabouts.

But now she was older. Her body had finally discovered the ‘on’ button for breasts and hips and cheekbones, and her hair – well, it was still there, just disguised beneath a realm of potions and charms. But surely he’ll notice that she’s a woman now, not a skinny, bushy-haired, non Quidditch-playing honorary member of the Weasley family?

Daydreaming, Hermione stopped bashing Ginny’s ears with banking nonsense and drifted up to her dormitory bed.

Spelling her bed curtains shut and applying some rigorous silencing charms, she closed her eyes and sent herself a vision...

 

*****

 

_Deep in the bowels of a small manor, whose occupant had departed our shores for more ethereal ones, Bill and Hermione search for an item of rare value – a choker necklace made from precious stones, set in pristine goblin gold. It just happened to be diabolically cursed (Hermione was a little fuzzy on the details, but hey, it’s her fantasy; she can skip corners if she wants to)._

_They’ve been searching for most of the day, casting detection spells hither and yon. Eventually, Bill finds the shimmering case containing the necklace behind a towering mountain of mouldy books. It feels warm and it trembles, as if with expectation, in his large, long-fingered hands._

_Placing the case carefully on the manor’s kitchen table, Bill methodically works his way through his significant repertoire of curse-breaking spells, Hermione taking meticulous notes along the way. But nothing works. The case still hums brightly, snug in its evil miasma._

_'Shit,’ Bill mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his tired eyes. ‘What kind of bloody curse is this?’_

_Hermione peers over the top of her half-moon glasses (are half-moon glasses sexy? She’ll have to look into it) and nervously shows Bill her notes. ‘I think,’ she bravely ventures, ‘if you try this, and this; then this, you should see a positive result...’ She trails off and bites her lower lip. Oh, Gryffindor’s garters! How could she think that the great Bill Weasley, curse-breaker extraordinaire, could learn from her?_

_Bill takes her notes and scrutinises them, expressionless. Then he sets them down on the table and looks at her with wonder. ‘My gods, you might have it!’ he breathes. He combines a couple of curses and makes the adjustments Hermione recommends. He points his wand at the case and..._

_...a flash of light; and ‘ping!’_

_The case opens._

_Hermione gasps. ‘You did it, Bill!’_

_Bill takes her hand and gently squeezes it. ‘No, Hermione. We did it,’ he says intently._

_She blushes (to her annoyance) and Bill scans the choker for residual nasties. Deeming it safe, he takes the glittering strand of jewels out of the case and holds it up to the manor’s dusty light._

_'What do you think?’ he asks._

_She stares at it, agog. ‘It’s – it’s stunning.’_

_He drapes the choker around her slim neck. Startled, her heart racing, she bundles up her hair to keep it out of the way as he leans over to fastens it._

_Once complete, he ghosts his hands up to her face, angling it up to his. ‘Yes,’ he whispers. ‘You are.’_

_His lips descend, hungrily, on hers._

*****

 

If Hermione was the happiest Sixth Year currently domiciled at Hogwarts, one didn’t have to go too far to find the whiniest. Languishing in the castle’s dungeon-y bits lay Slytherin’s Common Room. Inside, a group of spell-bound (not literally, we hope) group of (mostly female) fans, well-wishers and hangers-on gathered around one grey-eyed, blonde-haired grumpy pants, who’d flung himself onto a silky, forest-green settee with all the innate grace of a pre-syphilitic Byron.

‘Gringotts,’ he moaned. Then, upon receiving no reaction from the crowd, he raised his voice. ‘Gringotts!’

Nearby, mates Blaise Zabini and Theo Nott rolled their eyes and slumped deeper into their post-exam malaise, so it was up to Pansy-of-the-pug-face Parkinson to squawk ‘What about it? Has it lost all your money?’

Draco stared at her with repulsed stupefaction. ‘No, you daft bint,’ he snapped. ‘My bloody mother has seen fit to sign away my freedom, forcing me to work over the summer holidays at the bloody bank!’ He flung his gorgeous head of hair back and contemplated the Common Room’s dark, high-domed ceiling.

‘Oh, how awful!’ gasped Daphne Greengrass, always determined to be one step ahead of Parkinson in the ‘Draco Likes Me Better Than You’ game. ‘What a horrible thing for a mother to do!’

Draco narrowed his eyes. No-one was permitted to insult his mother except him! And even he didn’t even approve of himself doing it.

‘Maybe she wants you to learn about how money is made,’ Millicent Bulstrode mumbled from the other side of the coffee table, where she flicked through a copy of _Witch Weekly._ Being square, stout and plain, she knew she didn’t have a hope of attracting Draco’s fleeting attention. Not that she cared. Not enough meat on his bones for her taste.

Draco snorted elegantly. ‘I don’t need to know how money is made. I’ve got tons of it already.’ He sighed and slunk down on the settee. ‘Gods, these holidays are going to suck.’

‘Oh, Drakey, you poor thing,’ Pansy cooed, putting her hand on his arm.

Draco’s luscious upper lip curled. Six bloody weeks of toiling at the bank with no totty to speak of other than long-fingered goblins and mouldering old accountants. Slytherin’s slacks! How the hell was he going to cope?

He looked at Pansy’s hand, which was still taking up valuable real estate on his arm. His cock twitched. Her voice got on his very last nerve, and her face wasn’t exactly of the variety that could launch a thousand ships. Still, she could be counted on to assume the position when he had an itch to scratch. And for all he knew, his itch may not get scratched for another six sodding weeks!

What the hell. They could always do doggy-style. Maybe he could gag her, too.

Draco nodded at Pansy, then indicated the dorms with an inclined eyebrow. ‘Come on.’

He stood up. ‘Give me twenty minutes, guys,’ he murmured to room-mates Blaise and Theo, both of whom were three-quarters asleep in their chairs anyway.

Pansy trotted behind Draco, bestowing a satisfied smirk on the other disappointed girls. Nobody touches Drakey but me, bitches! she proudly broadcasted with her smug pug face. And don’t you forget it!


	2. Day One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a long day...

Hermione was frantic as she dashed along Diagon Alley to the bank. She’d meant to present herself nice and early, make a good impression and all that, but she spent so long in front of the mirror panicking about what to wear, flinging off clothing piece after clothing piece until she was certain she had the right look – practical for curse-breaking, saucy enough to draw Bill’s attention to her blossoming figure but not slutty enough that it was unsuitable for a professional environment.

She knew Bill wore casual clothes when performing his job; Mrs Weasley had remonstrated with him enough about it. Her lower half was sorted – a pair of narrow-legged blue jeans: tight (not Lavender Brown-tight), but the top half had her fretting and sweating and stamping her foot in sheer frustration.

Twenty changes of attire later, she scrutinised herself in the mirror. She saw ankle-length boots with respectable heels; jeans as aforementioned, and a purple short-sleeved v-neck t-shirt that fell in drapes below the bust, the latter of which had little buttons that could be undone to show a centimetre of cleavage. Or two. Or three. It looked like it might be a hot day. Who knew how many buttons might end up surplus to requirements?

She checked the time - and shrieked.

 

*****

               

Hermione bounded up the steps to Gringotts just as a yawning, impeccably-suited Draco Malfoy dragged his feet up to the bank’s doors. They stared at each other in alarm.

Hermione registered Draco’s expensive suit. Black certainly suits him, she thought, distracted. Matches his soul, no doubt. ‘Are you interning here?’ she asked curiously. 

Draco sighed. ‘No, Granger, as it happens, I’m here to rob it.’ Smirking at Hermione’s rolling eyes, he cast a professional gaze over her attire, noting that her casual Muggle clothing formed itself rather nicely around her figure.

Oh gods, am I seriously lusting after Granger’s body? he growled to himself. I should’ve taken more than twenty minutes with Parkinson.

‘And what brings you to Gringotts’ doors?’ he asked, raising an eyebrow. ‘Begging for alms?’

Her cute little nose parked itself in the air. ‘As it so happens, I’m also interning here. In the Curse-Breaking department.’ A self-satisfied little smile escaped and draped itself across her lip gloss.

Inwardly, Draco seethed. The lucky witch! Now’s there a department he wouldn’t have minded interning with. Instead, he’s ended up in some dreary gods-forsaken hellhole called Muggle – Wizard Foreign Exchange.

Oh, what wouldn’t he give to transfer to those breasts and work on assignments that he could really dig his teeth into those nipples poking through her shirt... huh?

Granger’s breasts?

Get out of my head! I banish thee!

Draco steeled himself and wrenched the bank’s imposing doors open. Gesturing Hermione inside, he followed her in and immediately regretted it as now he couldn’t drag his eyes away from her pert little bottom, lusciously clad in those indecent denims.

His pants felt a little tight.

 

*****

 

‘Bill!’

Hermione’s derrière picked up pace as she wended her way around the customers and crossed the bank’s imposing atrium. Following the hypnotic swing of her hips, Draco saw they were heading towards a tall, skinny bloke with long, red hair and dressed in the most appalling duds he’d ever seen.  He deduced that this creature was one of the army of Weasleys. Next to him was a short, portly goblin dressed in a morning suit with striped trousers, a cutaway tailcoat, waistcoat with an expensive goblin-honed timepiece peeking out of it, highly-starched white shirt and cravat. While the red-head conversed easily with the hyper-dressed goblin, it seemed the goblin could only respond in a series of pained grimaces and squinting eye blinks.

Draco could relate. Conversing with a Weasley always gave him a headache, too.

When he and Hermione drew up to the odd pair, Draco noted that Hermione was about to launch herself into the skinny Weasel’s arms, but she drew back at the last second, biting her lip.

‘Sorry,’ she blushed, ‘I presume it’s not appropriate to hug you in the workplace.’

Skinny Weasel laughed. ‘Who cares, right?’ he said and enveloped her in a bear hug that lifted her completely off her feet.

Hermione threw her head back and laughed with delight – and Draco was staggered.

He’d never seen her laugh. Around him, anyway.

And by the gods, it transformed her.

Noticing the aloof blonde teen with the carriage and attitude of a Malfoy staring at them, Bill put Hermione down and held his hand out to Draco. ‘Bill Weasley,’ he said pleasantly. ‘Curse-Breaking.’

Draco looked at the proffered hand and shook it briefly but firmly. ‘Draco Malfoy,’ he said, since that was all he needed to say. In fact, he shouldn’t even have to say his name. It should be damned obvious who he was.

Bill merely nodded and gestured to the goblin. ‘This is Bizzmarke, the Head of Gringotts’ Foreign Exchange. I understand you’re interning in his department.’

Bizzmarke pulled out an elegant monocle and peered at Draco through it.

Feeling not dissimilar to an insect under a magnification spell, Draco nodded at the goblin and said ‘Sir.’ Malfoys don’t kow-tow to goblins, even if one was going to be his boss for the next six weeks.

‘Young Mr Malfoy,’ Bizzmarke wheezed, ‘come with me, please.’

With that, Bill offered Hermione his arm and said ‘I’ll give you a quick tour of the bank, and then we’ll have a cuppa in the staff cafeteria. How does that sound?’

Hermione grinned and threaded her hand through his arm. ‘Sounds perfect!’

Draco watched the pair prance away. It was _so_ unfair.

‘Mr Malfoy!’

Oh! Right. Work.

Keeping his sigh to himself, he followed the creaking, coughing goblin, heading in the opposite direction of Hermione’s jeans.

 

*****

               

Thankfully, Bizzmarke believed in delegation. The more duties he could delegate, the more time he could spend in his office, fast asleep at his desk. Therefore, he led his newest charge to a vast, brightly-lit open-plan cavernous office where witches, wizards and creatures dashed here and there, pounding frantically at magical typewriters and scribbling on miles of parchment. People shouted; others shouted back. Above the centre of the cavern hung an immense, slowly-revolving globe, twinkling with ever-changing numbers. Owls dipped and dived in every direction, dropping off and picking up missives.

Bizzmarke stood just inside the entrance to the chaotic mess. ‘Your attention please,’ he whispered.

Surprisingly, everyone fell silent and turned to him. Draco barely heard him speak, and he was standing right next to him.

‘This young gentleman here is your new intern,’ he gasped. ‘Name of Malfoy. Bowles?’

Bowls? Draco looked around. What’s the old dingus on about?

A young wizard with sleek black hair and an aquiline nose stood up. ‘Yes, sir?’

‘Please be so kind as to instruct young Malfoy in his duties.’

‘Of course, sir!’ Bowles cheerfully replied.

Bizzmarke winced at the sight of all this enthusiasm. ‘Very good.’ To the rest of the floor he added ‘I shall be unavailable until after lunchtime. Please direct any queries to my secretary, as usual.’

Without waiting for a response, the aged goblin swivelled around and hustled out the door as fast as his arthritic knees could carry him.

 

******

 

‘Wow.’ Hermione stared up, down and all around the cluttered office; and sneezed.

Bill rubbed the back of his neck a bit shamefacedly. ‘Yeah, I’ve been meaning to tidy up. But I just can’t seem to find the time...’

‘No, no, it’s great! I love it! It’s like Aladdin’s Cave!’ she gushed.

Perched on every conceivable surface, including the floor, was a vast treasure trove of towering books, manuscripts, artefacts, prototypes, experiments, caskets and chests. Every item galvanised her curiosity; her fingers itched to touch and read, whereas she should be staring in alarm at the office’s many fire, crushing, engulfment and trip hazards.

Bill followed her gaze, amused by her enthusiasm. ‘Another thing I’d meant to do is catalogue everything. But it’s all I can do to just open the door, toss stuff inside, then I’m off on another assignment. Who knows what’s in here?’

Hermione turned to Bill, eyes shining and hands clasped together in prayer. ‘Bill Weasley, _please_ let me catalogue your office!’

He blinked. ‘You, er, like cataloguing?’ he asked.

‘I love it!’ she said breathily.

Bill boggled. The last time he heard a sound like that come from a woman’s mouth she was writhing in orgasmic ecstasy beneath him.

He blinked. Focus, man!

‘Well, it would be handy,’ he admitted, looking around. ‘How about we make a start today, then? Er – you won’t mind getting your pretty clothes dirty?’

He cast a glance at her t-shirt. It seemed to have lost a button already.

‘What – these old things?’ Hermione waved a dismissive hand and pretended to shove imaginary sleeves up her arms. ‘Where do you want me?’ She winked.

Bill raised his eyebrows.

 

*****

 

Meanwhile, Draco was not amused. The Bowles git just sat him down at a nearby desk with a mountain of parchment records, and ordered him to sort them into date order. Without using magic. Then the man simply lounged at his workstation, feet up on the desk, and started braying to a couple of other Hooray Henry types about the fantastic party at his parents’ mansion the weekend before.

Didn’t even bother to introduce Draco to the Hooray Henrys, let alone anyone else on the floor.

Draco Malfoy was - for the first time in his life - ignored.

And he didn’t like it one sodding bit.

Patience, he snarled to himself. Get the lay of the land first. Work out who’s who in the pecking order... then slither on in and unleash hell.

Meanwhile, he supposed he could lower himself to conduct some menial labour. It’s not like anyone worth knowing was here to see him toil.

Sighing, he reached for the first parchment.

 

*****

 

One hundred thousand million pieces of parchment later (or so it seemed to Draco), he became aware of a subtle change of mood on the trading floor. The helter-skelter showed no signs of abating, but he couldn’t help but notice that Bowles and his toadies were sitting up, patting their hair smooth, and in one revolting case, adjusting the front of his pants.

Draco peered over his parchment mountain, and a genuine smile wafted past his lips before he replaced it with the Malfoy Smirk.  A goddess in a floaty blue summer dress was shimmering her way through the office, stopping off from time to time to drop off or pick up. Oblivious to the hungry stares of the men she passed, she stopped at an old dragon’s desk (not a literal dragon, you understand) to coo over photos of the old biddy’s great-great-great-great-great grandchildren.

Bowles groaned under his breath as the beauty bent over to see the pictures better. ‘O, luscious globes,’ he muttered hungrily, ogling her arse.

‘With hair like spun gold,’ Hooray Henry One breathed, his eyes shining.

‘Wonder if her carpet matches her drapes?’ Hooray Henry Two sniggered.

‘Actually, she keeps it bare,’ Draco murmured, reaching for another parchment.

Bowles practically fell off his chair. ‘W-Wha?’ – He boggled at the blonde upstart daddy’s boy. He glanced at his Henrys, who were equally lost for words.

He quickly recovered. No bloody way did this _kid_ know _her!_ Nah. Out of the question! He probably hasn’t seen a pussy in his life. Not that I have either, he ruminated, but that’s beside the point.

‘Do you seriously expect us to believe that you, a mere _schoolboy_ , has been up, close and intimate with that absolute vision of perfect loveliness?’ he scoffed. ‘Yeah, right. May warts sprout all over my todger if it’s true!’

Draco glanced warily at Bowles’ pants. ‘Warts can be quite contagious.’

Bowles rolled his eyes. ‘Well, there’s one way to prove to us that you know her.’

Draco crossed his arms and glared at him defiantly. ‘I’m not going to shag her in the middle of the office,’ he snapped. ‘Even if you do desperately need lessons.’

Bowles didn’t spare him the wither in his glance. ‘No, you almost-albino. Look! She’s coming over. Go on and say hello. I dare you.’

Draco sighed and slowly stood up from his desk. Buttoning his jacket, he caught the lovely lady’s eye and smiled. _‘Bonjour, ma belle!’_ he said.

A look of surprise passed over her features before clearing to elation. ‘Draco!’ she squealed, and rushed over to his open arms. They embraced tightly, before kissing each other on both cheeks. ‘What are you doing ‘ere?’ she exclaimed, standing back to take a good look at him.

Draco glanced at the Trio of Probable Virgins. He wished he could frame their faces. ‘Hello, Fleur,’ he murmured. ‘You look just as stunning as you did the last time I saw you.’

That happened to be when she stayed at Hogwarts for the Triwizard Tournament. Fleur Delacour lay naked on her bed in her single room, skin flushed and shimmering, and her golden hair in disarray. Eyes hungry for more of one Draco Lucius Malfoy.

Fleur must have remembered, because her cheeks bloomed pink, and she laughed. ‘Naughty boy!’ she said, tapping his nose with her finger. ‘Well, you look very different! You ‘ave certainly grown up... and filled out.’ She ran her eyes down, then up his body with a professional gaze that left nothing out. ‘But whatever are you doing ‘ere?’

Draco picked up a piece of parchment between two fingers. ‘Interning,’ he muttered. ‘What about you?’

‘Oh! I am ‘ere to improve my English,’ she replied proudly. ‘I’m Mr Bizzmarke’s secretary.’

‘Your English has always been perfect,’ Draco said gallantly.

She laughed and shoved his arm. ‘Maybe you ‘aven’t changed at all, you devil of the silver tongue!’

Draco thought he heard a moan nearby before it was quickly cut off.

Fleur checked the time and said ‘I know! ‘Ow about we get a cup of coffee and catch up? I have no meetings for the moment. 'Oo do you report to?’

Draco slung his thumb at Bowles, who was now looking rather pained. ‘Apparently, this guy.’

‘You don’t mind, do you, Mr Bowles’?’ Fleur asked, fluttering her eyelashes.

‘N-no, carry on,’ he squeaked, before clearing his throat. ‘Carry on,’ he repeated unnecessarily in a deeper voice.

‘Wonderful!’ Fleur beamed. She took Draco’s proffered arm, and the pair sailed out of the office together, followed by very many pairs of surprised or jealous eyes.

Bowles sank into his chair, white. He hoped his invocation about the warts wasn’t an actual spell. Did it come with wand movements or not?

 

*****

 

After Gringotts closed for the day, Draco found himself sitting in The Leaky Cauldron with his three new best mates: Bowles (Alister) and the Hooray Henrys, aka Colin Pierpont and Richard Raffety. Not a single knut had Draco spent; all ales were enthusiastically proffered by his new chums.

Colin shuffled closer. ‘Tell us again about her tits, mate,’ he begged.

Alister, swigging back a beer, signalled agreement with his eyes.

Richard nodded in emphatic agreement. ‘I could listen to you talk about ‘em all day,’ he said wistfully.

Well, Draco bloody well couldn’t talk about them all day. As arrogant, rude and up himself as he was, he didn’t kiss and tell. Except for Parkinson, but she hardly counted. Fleur’s breasts were, in fact, lovely, firm B-cups, but he assumed that going by the adage ‘the more you talk about sex, the less likely it is you’ve had any,’ they wouldn’t notice if he made something up.

He thought of Parkinson’s more substantial Ds. Best thing about her, to be honest. ‘They spill over your hands, like clutching the softest feather pillow,’ he started. ‘You couldn’t fit one completely in your hand even if you tried.’

‘Oh, gods...’ Colin murmured. Draco noticed, with distaste, that his hand had crept beneath the table. Again.

‘And as for her nipples,’ Draco continued, keeping the boredom out of his voice (but only just), ‘the lightest breath would turn them hard, peaked and straining for your tongue.’

Alister and Richard gulped their beers like uncouth tradesmen. Colin’s arm began to jiggle suspiciously.

Draco hid his revulsion in a sip of beer and glanced around the pub for something to take his mind off Colin’s under-table masturbation. He was rewarded by the opening of the door.

The pub’s new arrival was none other than Hermione Granger, looking like she was floating on cloud nine.

‘Granger!’ Her name fell out of Draco’s mouth, surprising even himself. ‘Fancy a beer?’ _Please say yes please say yes please say yes._ If she sat down with them, he’d no longer have to make up torrid sex scenes on demand like a fanfiction writer. Whatever they are.

To his astonishment, his prayers must have worked, for she availed herself of a Butterbeer from the bar and wafted over to his table. Draco, Alister and Richard immediately stood up; Colin lurched about, looking like he was having some trouble with his fly.

Draco performed the introductions. ‘Granger, this is Richard’ –

Richard shyly shook her hand.

‘ – Alister’ – he took her hand and kissed, it, accompanied by a leering wink that had Hermione raising her eyebrows in disbelief – ‘and Colin.’

Looking worse than a beetroot with a serious case of sunburn, Colin lurched upright and thrust out the sweaty hand that had been up to no good beneath the table.

Just before Hermione took it, Draco’s own hand shot out and restrained her wrist. ‘Oh! What did you do to your hand?’ he babbled.

She looked oddly at him. ‘What the hell are you on about?’

Draco shot a glance at Colin, who mumbled something about nature and scuttled off to the Wizards'.

Draco realised he was still holding on to Granger’s wrist. Gods, it was tiny. His fingers easily encircled her delicate bones. ‘Um. I could have sworn I saw a burn.’ He dropped her wrist. ‘I must have been wrong.’

Hermione surreptitiously checked her hand as she took a seat. Malfoy’s never admitted he was wrong before.

‘Alister, Richard and Colin work in the department I’m interning in,’ said Draco, resuming his seat and dragging his beer towards him.

Hermione smiled at the trio. ‘Really?’ she said. Turning to Richard, who was closest, she asked ‘And what do you do at Gringotts’?’

His chest puffed up to immensely ridiculous proportions, Richard launched into a unending monologue on Wizard-Muggle foreign exchange that bored Draco to tears and surprised Alister immensely. He didn’t think Richard had any idea what he did at the bank.

However, sensing that Hermione was judging the distance to the exits, Alister took advantage of Richard’s pausing to breathe and asked ’Are you and Malfoy friends at school?’ It was a sad substitute for the question he really wanted to ask, which was ‘Are you single, and do you fancy getting it on with a rich, 21-year-old stud with a cock as big as a centaur’s?’

If a centaur’s ding-a-ling was the size of a baby carrot.

Heedless of the subtext, Hermione glanced briefly at Malfoy’s expressionless face and replied ‘We’ve known each other for years, haven’t we?’

Draco swallowed down more beer than he was planning to. He was expecting ‘Are you joking? Draco Malfoy’s the most self-centred, arrogant pillock to ever darken Hogwarts’ doors! The only person he’s friends with is himself and his tiny little knob.’

Putting down his beer glass, he changed the subject. ‘Granger’s also interning at Gringotts. In curse-breaking.’

‘Ooh!’ chorused the trio, well impressed.

‘I must say, you must be awfully smart,’ Alister praised.

Draco hid an eyeroll. Seems he’s worked out how to get into the Swotty Princess’s good books.

She blushed, and at their urging, described her day. Every sentence was liberally sprinkled with ‘Bill.’ Draco silently started counting the number of times she referred to Bill as she animatedly recounted the discovery of some Egyptian artefact Bill kept in his poky office.

‘... amazing silver sarcophagus of a cat! And inside it, he keeps his tea-making supplies! ...’

He also noticed – how could he not? – that some of the buttons on her t-shirt were undone. Enough to display the contours of her youthful cleavage and a bra strap. It was black.

Draco zoned out and imagined Granger dressed in nothing but a black bra and lacy boy shorts, with her curls piled up on her head, to expose her throat, walking slowly towards him with a coy smile on her lips...

‘Malfoy? Malfoy!’ Colin snapped his fingers in front of Draco’s face. ‘You want a refill or what?’

‘Oh!’ Shit. Malfoys don’t daydream in public. What the blazes is going on here?

Did he want another? Not really, but the thought of leaving Granger with this lot made him feel...

He didn’t know what it was, but he didn’t like it. No sir.

‘How about you, Granger?’ he solicited. ‘Another?’

To his relief, she shook her head and drained the last of her glass. ‘It’s been a really full-on day,’ she said apologetically to her new fan club. ‘I think it’s a bath and an early night for me.’

Colin whimpered.

The rest decided to head home, too. All stood up and headed to the Floo – except for Hermione, who was headed for the Leaky’s stairs.

‘How are you getting home?’ Draco asked curiously. He thought Muggleborns that couldn’t apparate used the brick wall out back.

‘I’m staying in the Leaky for the holidays,’ she replied. ‘Told my parents that it’s far more practical to be living near the bank for the duration of my internment.’

Believable excuse, but her red cheeks gave the game away. Draco could only surmise that it had something to do with that red-headed lout in Curse-Breaking.

She’s serious about shagging him! Draco realised – then a burning sensation bloomed in his gut.

Hiding his wince, he said ‘All right, then. See you tomorrow, maybe.’

‘Yeah. See ya!’

And with that, those long, luscious legs skipped up the Leaky’s wonky steps to the next floor.

At the Floo, the Trio of Virgins were practically hopping from one foot to another with excitement.

‘I say, Malfoy, you do have the devil’s luck with the birds!’ said Richard, well impressed.

‘Do you know if she’s seeing anyone?’ asked Alister, hoping to conceal his desperation by twitching his robes into place.

The burning sensation in Draco’s gut increased. And this annoyed the snot of out him.

‘I doubt it,’ he said dismissively, grabbing some Floo powder. ‘I’ll see you all tomorrow, yeah?’

‘Damn right you will!’


	3. Over the Next Couple of Weeks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco and Hermione dip tentative toes into the friendship pond. And is it all on between Hermione and Bill?

For Draco, interning at Gringotts meant a steady regime of work, beer, home. Repeat ad nauseum. Of course, he was frequently required to ply vivid descriptions to the Trio about sex positions so fantastic he’d never even tried them. He wasn’t even sure some were physically possible. Still, Bowles quickly graduated him from putting parchments in order (the department’s equivalent of Latrine Duty) and was shown the ropes in foreign currency exchange, or Forex, as those in the know knew it as, don’t you know.

This included a trip to Muggle London to spend time with a Muggleborn witch who managed the Galleon-Euro Forex desk at the Bank of England. It was confounded to look like the point of contact for a tiny but very rich and arrogant country that spurned the Euro, US dollar and other major currencies of the world, insisting on trading in its own currency, the Humperdink. People became rather vague about it whenever they approached her desk.

It was nowhere near as interesting as Hermione’s field trips out to exotic locales, e.g. Brighton, to conduct research on cursed items. She animatedly filled him in on the details when they met for lunch or had a drink after work.

For, yes! The two had somehow become... friends? Colleagues? More than nodding acquaintances? Draco didn’t want to jinx the situation by trying to define it. For all that Hermione was still a know-it-all swot, he discovered that she was also observant, witty, and she smelled like jasmine and narcissus.

Very bloody distracting.

Also, trying to keep Alister _et. al_ away from Hermione was proving rather tedious.

And he had no idea why he bothering.

Truly.

 

*****

 

For her part, Hermione was also a tad discombobulated by her change in relationship with Draco. Away from his idiotic goons and Slytherin slags, he’d turned out to be rather... tolerable. Possibly a little bit more than. And easy on the eye. But she didn’t give too much thought to this because her head was fully occupied with the pursuit of one William Arthur Weasley.

Which, if she must be honest with herself, was not progressing to the level she wanted.

She was ashamed of herself, really. As a modern woman, she should just get him alone in a private space, look him in the eye and calmly explain to him that she, Hermione Granger, was in love with him, and therefore she was making herself available. To him. He may pounce when ready.

But... she wasn’t quite ready for that. Instead, she shrunk her tops and subtly increased the amount of make-up she wore until she could barely blink her eyes under the weight of all the mascara she slapped on.

All for the sum total result of... nothing!

Well. Nothing from Bill. Those weird colleagues of Malfoy’s kept following her around like panting puppy dogs. Honestly! If it wasn’t for Malfoy dragging their attention to something or someone else, she’d feel rather violated by the intensity of their rude stares.

But who cares! What the hell was she going to do about Bill?

 

*****

 

Across the lunch table in the bank’s staff cafe, Hermione looked warily at Draco. ‘Er, Malfoy?’

Draco looked up from peeling an orange and found himself looking into her beautiful cinnamon eyes, zeroed with laser accuracy onto his face.

‘Er, yeah?’ he replied, just as warily.

She sighed. ‘How do girls get your attention?’

Draco frowned, thinking. ‘They just seem to fight each other and then the victor falls at my feet,’ he replied. ‘Does that help?’

The look she sent him over her cup of hot chocolate indicated that it did not.

‘What?’ he defended. ‘They do! I don’t ask them to do it.’

She sighed again. ‘You’re no help.’

The sourness in Draco’s stomach worsened. ‘Maybe if you told me what you wanted help with, I could give you better information.’

She couldn’t really argue with that. But to open her soul to Draco Malfoy, Slytherin Prince and world’s most odious twat? Even if he has been behaving like a human, lately?

‘Promise you won’t tell a single soul?’ she asked, biting her lip and looking gorgeously vulnerable.

Something odd thumped in Draco’s chest. Possibly his heart.

‘All right,’ he conceded.

Hermione leaned closer to him. The jasmine and narcissus smell intensified, tantalising his nostrils. And other body parts. ‘I want to get Bill to like me,’ she confessed.

Yes. Well. Alert the _Prophet._

The last couple of weeks he’d been watching Hermione’s clumsy public wooing, wincing all the way. The Skinny Weasel would just pat her on the head, metaphorically speaking, and sail on, oblivious. How he could ignore all that luscious totty that was Granger was beyond him.

Hmm. Maybe...?

‘Maybe he’s gay?’ Draco ventured.

Hermione looked like he’d taken her _Hogwarts: A History_ and set fire to it.

Draco raised his hands. ‘Just a suggestion.’

‘I refuse to believe it.’ That cute nose of hers was up in the air again.

Draco ran his hand through his impeccable hair, mussing it to gorgeous effect. ‘Well, have you told him how you feel?’

Hermione blinked; then sagged back in her seat. ‘I can’t,’ she mumbled.

‘Want me to tell him?’

‘No!’ Her hand shot out and gripped his wrist, in case he was thinking of immediately departing the cafe in search of her unsuspecting quarry.

‘Well, what _do_ you want?’ Draco scowled. The orange was gingering up his sour stomach.

Hermione’s temper briefly flared – but then she slumped at the table, defeated. ‘I just want him to like me,’ she mumbled.

Draco pushed the rest of his orange away and sighed. ‘If it’s meant to happen, it will happen,’ he said, dredging up some advice his mother gave him when he was trying out for the Slytherin Quidditch team.

Hermione looked up and smiled. ‘Thanks, Draco,’ she said.

He hid his blush by standing and pretending to tidy up his lunch leftovers.

She called him  _Draco._

 

*****

 

One afternoon, Hermione came back from the vaults to find Bill in his slightly tidier office, poring over a couple of rings on his desk. He looked up.

‘Ah! Hermione! Perfect! Is the door shut? Good! I need your advice – as a woman,’ he said earnestly.

Hermione’s insides instantly turned flubbery. ‘Of course!’ she said, and skipped over to his desk.

‘What do you think of these rings?’ Bill asked, scratching his chin.

‘They’re... lovely,’ she squeaked, barely daring to breathe.

They both looked to be antique. One had a rose gold band and was set with a lozenge-shaped amethyst in a basket designed to look like the petals of a flower. The second ring was silver with a square-cut deep blue sapphire. A triangular diamond hugged it on each side.

‘Which one do you like best?’ he asked.

‘Uh... um...’ It wasn’t often that Hermione Granger was lost for words. ‘Y-you really want to know?’ she whispered, hardly daring to hope.

‘Of course!’ Bill replied.

Omigod. OMIGOD!

She mentally catalogued her wardrobe, working out which ring would best match her clothing. ‘I like the sapphire,’ she whispered, blushing furiously.

‘Excellent! I knew you had impeccable taste, Hermione!’ Pocketing both rings, Bill bounced up from the desk and stepped around it, pausing to hug Hermione and kiss the tip of her nose. ‘I’ve got to go,’ he said. ‘Will you have enough to keep you busy for the afternoon?’

Hermione stammered ‘S-sure. No problem.’

At the door, Bill paused and grinned. ‘Ah, you’re a wonderful girl, Hermione!’

And then he was gone.

Hermione stared at the door. Silly boy, she thought. He was in such a hurry to get to where he had to go that he completely forgot to give me the ring!

Hugging herself and grinning like the Cheshire Cat, she applied herself to the continued cataloguing of Bill’s office. 


	4. The Next Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh! A-vaulting we will go!

At the start of the work day, both Draco and Hermione discovered that their Lords and Masters were absent. Draco was not in a particular hurry to Forex, so Hermione suggested that he come down with her to the vaults to help her locate an item Bill had asked her to find.

Draco tried to hide his elation at the prospect of having something interesting to do. ‘Yeah, I suppose.’

Down they travelled deep into the bank’s bowels. Hermione unlocked a vault using the security spell Bill gave her.

Stepping in behind her, Draco looked around. Unlike his family’s vaults, which were stuffed to the gills with Galleons, jewellery and other things rich people have, this vault looked more like a dusty warehouse.

Hermione looked at his suit apologetically. ‘This is why Bill and I don’t dress up for our jobs,’ she quipped.

No complaints here, Draco thought as he took in her tight denim capris and grey tank top. Shrugging, he took off his suit jacket and tie, and strolled up to Hermione, who was holding a parchment and looking thoughtful.

‘What are we looking for?’ he asked.

‘According to this, we’re looking for a gold and onyx statue of a scorpion,’ she replied, looking around. ‘Bill’s found one that’s cursed, and he believes its uncursed twin is in one of these boxes. He wants to study the uncursed one before having a go at the cursed one.’

Draco followed her gaze. Merlin’s mistresses, there were thousands of boxes.

He pulled out his wand. ‘Can we use these?’ he asked warily.

Hermione grinned. ‘Of course we can!’

 

*****

 

Even with their wands and combined intelligence, it took the better part of three hours to locate the scorpion. And Draco was the one who found it.

‘Well done!’ Hermione cheered when he emerged from a tottering tower of boxes, clutching the scorpion like it was the Hogwarts Quidditch Cup.

Draco celebrated his achievement by doing a little strutting and posturing, reducing Hermione to fits of laughter.

‘Come on, you,’ she said, grabbing his jacket and tie. ‘Let’s get you above-ground so you can clean up and go back to Forex-ing.’

‘Hell, no,’ Draco retorted. ‘I found this baby, so I want to see this assignment through to the end!’

Hermione shrugged agreeably. ‘I’m parched. Fancy a cuppa while we put ol’ Scorpy here through its paces?’

Come to think of it, Draco’s throat was on the dusty side, too. ‘Good idea. Lead on!’

 

*****

 

Hermione suspected something was wrong the second she opened the door to Bill’s office. He left a note with the security code, saying not to expect him back until the afternoon, but -

Draco noticed Hermione’s frown. ‘What’s’ –

‘Shh!’ Hermione shushed.  ‘I think there’s an intruder in Bill’s office.’

Immediately, Draco pulled out his wand. ‘Let me go first,’ he whispered, moving past her.

The ‘independent woman’ side of Hermione was about to tell him to get knotted, but pragmatic Hermione won the argument. If there _was_ an intruder, there wasn’t any point sacrificing herself to whatever violence may be forthcoming if there was a perfectly acceptable human offering to go first.

When Hermione quietly closed the door, Draco heard a noise. A shuffle, a rustle. It was somewhere in the back of the office.

Signalling Hermione and putting his finger to his lips, he indicated the direction where he thought the noise was coming from. Together, wands drawn, the pair tiptoed around bookshelves and desks and cupboards and towers of boxes and papers, with the mystery sounds slowly getting louder.

Then, Draco heard another sound. Sort of like a squeak combined with a... moan?

Huh? It sounded like...

Eventually, he peered around a dilapidated suit of armour – and quickly drew his head back. Frantically, he indicated to Hermione to retreat, on the double.

‘Why?’ she mouthed. ‘What did you see?’

‘Nothing!’ he mouthed back. ‘Go! Go!’

But in his haste, Draco knocked the suit of armour’s enormous accompanying pike over, and it went a-clattering to the floor at a great rate of decibels.

Behind Draco came lots more rustling, and also some cursing. ‘Who’s there?’ came Bill’s authoritative tones.

Hermione beamed in relief. ‘Bill!’ she laughed, shouldering past Draco, who was acting very oddly, trying to hold her back. ‘I thought you were an intruder’ –

But when she rounded the armour, she stopped short, and her mouth fell open.

For not only was Bill ensconced in the back of the office, he was also ensconced in the bosom of the lovely Fleur Delacour.

Who was wearing the sapphire ring Hermione admired so much on her left ring finger.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco and Hermione are officially... wait for it... starts with the letter 'f'...

Hermione’s face dropped and her skin rapidly drained of colour. Draco’s hand hovered by her elbow, lest she graced everyone with her impression of the Dance of the Dying Swan.

‘Hermione!’ Bill’s face was flushed, more from its recent visit to Fleur’s chest than from embarrassment. ‘Draco, hello! Er, have either of you met Fleur?’

Hermione’s response was a strangled hiss of air, so Draco replied ‘Yeah, we met when Fleur stayed at Hogwarts.’ He nodded respectfully at the semi-dishevelled dame.

‘’Allo, Draco!’ she said cheerfully, patting her skirt and hair back into place. ‘’Allo, ‘Ermione! I ‘aven’t seen you in years! Bill speaks very ‘ighly of you.’

‘H-Hi,’ Hermione whispered. Dangerous-looking spots of red appeared on her cheeks.

Bill and Fleur were too caught up in each other to notice Hermione’s distress, although Draco conceded she was doing a passable job of trying to hide it. For someone not schooled in the Malfoy Look.

‘We got back early; sorry I didn’t let you know,’ Bill said as apologetically as he could, given his current circumstances. ‘We just got back from The Burrow where we told them the great news!’

I knew it! Draco thought to himself. The tribe of Weasels lived in an underground burrow! And Fleur still wants to be with him? Huh. Some wonders never cease.

‘Great news?’ Hermione asked, her voice betraying a tiny wobble.

Bill put his arm around Fleur and looked into her eyes before replying. ‘I’ve asked Fleur to marry me,’ he said proudly. ‘And she said yes!’

 

*****

 

It was no good. Hermione had reached the end of her tolerance. She boggled at the ring on Fleur’s slim finger, Bill’s words pounding into her head like a jackhammer.

She took a deep breath in, and let it out. Dredged up the appropriate congratulatory epithets, and...

... spun around and bolted out of the office.

Three sets of eyes watched her depart; two confused, one resigned.

Draco sighed. ‘Congratulations to you both on your engagement,’ he said. ‘But I should go and find her.’

Bill scratched his head, perplexed. ‘What’s wrong? Why is Hermione so upset?’

Oh, for Merlin’s sake. ‘Why don’t you think back to the time she’s spent at this bank and think about what she’s said to you, how she’s acted around you, and most obviously, what she’s been wearing around you?’ Draco snapped, turning around and stomping his way through the maze of clutter.

Bill was a smart bloke, so he quickly but belatedly put two and two together. ‘Oh, hell,’ he groaned. ‘How could I have been so blind?’

Well, Fleur certainly dazzled the eyes. And other parts of the body.

‘Er, I should get back to work,’ Fleur murmured, kissing Bill on the cheek and following Draco. ‘I ‘ope ‘Ermione will be okay.’

‘Yeah, I should speak to her,’ Bill replied, taking up the rear of the procession.

At the door, Draco turned. ‘Can you give me some time, first?’ he said. Not asked.

Apprehensive blue eyes met stormy grey.

‘Yeah, all right,’ Bill muttered.

Draco slipped through the door and was gone.

 

*****

 

Draco hoped Hermione wouldn’t be hiding inside one of the bank’s bazillion vaults; he’d never find her, otherwise. So he thought back to his rather desultory induction tour from Alister and narrowed down the areas where someone could be alone. Aside from the Witches’ toilets. If she was hiding in one of those cubicles, good luck to her.

Likewise if she’d left the bank entirely. But Draco had a feeling that her overly-developed work ethic wouldn’t let her.

After a couple of false starts, he found her on the roof. She wasn’t looking to jump; she was hunched underneath an enormous stone gargoyle with her arms wrapped around her knees, which were pulled up to her chest. Her lowered head completed the look of a human pretzel.

She didn’t look up when Draco approached, so he stopped a respectful distance away before clearing his throat.

Her head snapped up. It was beet red and her cheeks were streaked with tears. ‘Come to laugh, have you?’ she snarled, albeit with a very wavy voice. ‘Well, go on, then! No doubt Bill and Fleur are having a great laugh at my expense!’

A couple of weeks ago, Draco would have been front and centre, pointing his finger at her and cracking up, encouraging Parkinson to say horrible things just to eke out the entertainment. But now, the sourness in Draco’s stomach seemed to have migrated to his chest, because the pitiful sight of her, sitting under a gargoyle’s arse and crying, made his chest clench.

‘I’m not here to laugh, Hermione,’ he said gently. Wow. Her name felt _awesome_ to utter. So much softer and more lyrical than ‘Granger.’ ‘I came to see if you were okay.’

Hermione’s face was lowered again. ‘As you can see, I’m perfectly fine,’ she muttered in a muffled voice. ‘Now piss off.’

A Malfoy does what he wants. Not what he’s told to do.

He made his way to the parapet and sat down next to her, leaning his back against the low stone wall. ‘Academically, I’m second in the Year to you,’ he reminded her. ‘Therefore, I can plainly see that you’re not okay. But it’s okay.’

Hermione snorted wetly. Draco permitted himself a small eye-roll at her lack of decorum.

‘You contradicted yourself,’ she mumbled.

‘Don’t think so,’ Draco replied. ‘You really liked this bloke. No-one can help who they like, or crush on, or fall in love with. But it’s now clear that he’s in love with Fleur, and probably has been for some time. If you had no idea they were together, given how close you are to the Weasels, they must have been keeping it a secret. How were you to know?’

Hermione was silent for a bit, then sighed. ‘I just feel so humiliated.’

‘Well, I reckon Bill can shoulder some of that blame,’ Draco replied. ‘If he was half as observant as I am’ –

Hermione snorted again.

‘ – he should have figured out in the first couple of days that you were interested in him. I reckon you should slap him when you see him next.’

This time, Hermione’s snort contained a little giggle. Finally, she lifted her head up and wiped away at her tears with her fingers. A clean, white handkerchief appeared in her view. Startled, she looked at its owner, who was proffering the linen with a resigned look on his face.

‘Go on.’

‘T-thanks, Malfoy.’

Both were quiet as Hermione repaired her face and took some restorative breaths.

‘May I offer some advice?’ he asked. ‘Which you don’t have to take, of course.’

Hermione shrugged. ‘Sure.’

‘Sometimes the direct approach is the best approach.’

She scoffed. ‘And face rejection full-on? No, thanks.’

Draco turned his head and fastened his grey gaze on hers. ‘Hermione, you’re a beautiful, intelligent and accomplished young woman. Anyone with half a brain can see you’re going to great places after you finish school. If a bloke is stupid enough to reject your direct approach, then they’re too stupid for you. It’s that simple. Think of it as weeding-out tool.’

Hermione was dumbstruck. This was Draco The Dickhead Malfoy, sitting on a parapet next to her, telling her she was beautiful. And intelligent. And accomplished. And he wasn’t taking the piss. She could see that he meant it.

‘Thank you,’ she smiled, blushing a little. ‘I’ll bear it in mind.’

Then Draco did a lovely thing.

He put his arm around her shoulder and drew her close to him. She rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes.

Draco leaned his head back against the wall and closed his.

After a little while, Hermione murmured ‘You called me Hermione, just then.’

‘I did.’ A little silence, then: ‘You called me Draco once. In the cafe.’

‘Did I?’ Hermione thought. ‘Does that mean we’re friends, then?’

Friends with Hermione Granger? Draco pondered. His old man would be spinning in his tomb. If it wasn’t for the fact that he was still alive. ‘I guess it does.’

‘That’s nice,’ she replied. Then she looked up. ‘But what about when school starts?’

Yes, Draco considered. Their friendship would certainly loose a large, angry cat amongst a thousand thick-headed pigeons. The easy thing to do was to end this fledging friendship now.

But Draco didn’t feel like taking the easy way out. For once.

‘No doubt it will raise a lot of eyebrows at the start,’ he reckoned, ‘but they’ll get over it eventually.’

‘Good,’ Hermione whispered, her eyes closing again.

 

*****

 

The sound of footsteps made them both raise their heads. It was Bill, his hands in his pockets and looking very uncertain.

‘Hermione,’ he started, ‘can we talk?’

Hermione swallowed. Draco stood up.

‘I’ll be off,’ he told her. ‘See you at the Leaky later?’

‘Yeah,’ Hermione smiled. ‘Thanks, Draco.’

He grinned back. ‘Anytime, Hermione.’ Then he was gone.

Bill sat down opposite Hermione and folded his long legs underneath him. ‘I’m so sorry, sweetheart. Maybe I shouldn’t have kept my relationship with Fleur a secret, but since we work together, we didn’t want to draw attention to ourselves.’

Hermione swallowed again. ‘It’s okay, Bill. Really. I should have told you how I felt at the start.’

‘How long have you felt this way?’ Bill asked in curious dread.

‘Oh, a few years.’ Then she laughed. ‘It was just a crush I had on someone I knew who was smart and had an exciting job, and was always nice to me. But now’ – she realised, – ‘I don’t feel that way about you anymore. I hope we can still be friends, though.’

Bill grinned. ‘Of course we can!’ He stood up, and held out a hand for Hermione to pull her up. He drew her into a warm, brotherly hug. ‘An amazing bloke will come along for you one day, Miss Granger. And when he does, make sure you bring him to The Burrow so we can make doubly sure he deserves you.’

Hermione smiled. ‘I wouldn’t have it any other way,’ she replied.


	6. Over the Next Couple of Weeks (again)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time flies when you're interning! The end of the holidays approach...

Hermione continued her internship with Bill, loving every minute of it. Draco continued his internship in Foreign Exchange, quite sure that Forex was not the career he would be seeking after he left Hogwarts. Still, it wasn’t so bad hanging out with the Trio, now. Richard became a celebrity on the trading floor by mistakenly selling a massive pile of Galleons to a Nigerian bank for one hundred times their worth – and the bank simply stumped up the cash without a word of complaint. They were still thinking about how to break the news to Bizzmarke.

Colin, of all people, found himself a girlfriend and matured almost overnight. Draco noted, with relief, that he’d stopped adjusting the front of his pants every few minutes. Presumably what he kept therein was getting some action from a third party. Or Colin’s house-elves were using a new detergent spell.

It was Alister that was proving to be the thorn in Draco’s side. And that was because he seemed intent on sticking his thorn into Hermione.

‘Mate, I don’t think she’s interested in you,’ Draco gritted, after having been forced to sit through another Alisterian monologue about Hermione’s bounteous assets (breasts).

‘Nonsense!’ Alister scoffed with the confidence of the very rich who are used to getting what they want. ‘It’s just because she doesn’t know me.’

Since this wasn’t the first conversation Draco had had with Alister on the topic, and given that he wasn’t too fond of banging his gorgeous blonde head against a brick wall, he kept his mouth shut and returned to work.

 

*****

 

**The last Friday of the internship**

It was a merry evening in the Leaky Cauldron. To celebrate the completion of the internships, the pub’s walls were heaving with Gringotts personnel – not of the goblin variety, of course. Bill and Fleur were there, along with most of the Forex trading floor and staff from the other departments that took in students over the holidays.

‘Congratulations on becoming Head Girl!’ Bill shouted over the din, clinking glasses with Hermione. ‘You’re following in prestigious footsteps,’ he added, not-so-modestly indicating himself.

Fleur, sitting next to him, laughed. ‘The brainy ones ‘ave impeccable taste, I find!’ she said to Hermione. ‘So, when do you think you’ll give Draco a go, eh?’

Hermione’s eyes widened and she whipped her head around, praying Draco wasn’t nearby. Luckily, he was at the bar, talking insistently to Alister about something.

‘What do you mean?’ she asked, belatedly.

Fleur smiled kindly. ‘’E likes you. Ver’ much.’

Hermione felt heat creep into her cheeks. If truth be told, her views on Draco had undergone a bit of a sea change lately. Like when they got to know each other at the bank. And when they became friends. From then on, Hermione conceded, she’d been thinking about him. A lot. At night. In bed.

She assumed, though, that Draco was only interested in being friends. And she’d rather poke out her eyes with a fork than go through the same rigmarole that she did with Bill.

But now...

‘Are you sure he likes me?’ she asked Fleur, leaning over.

‘Of course!’ Fleur nodded. ‘We French, we know these things.’

Huh. Well, maybe she should give Draco’s advice a go? She hadn’t congratulated him on becoming Head Boy, yet.

After this drink. Maybe.

 

*****

 

Draco’s frustration was energetically simmering, and it was about to boil over any minute. Alister would simply not shut up about Hermione! Merlin’s monkey bars, he wished he could shut Alister up by walking up to Hermione and kissing her, but he wasn’t sure how she felt about him.

Agreeing to be friends after six years of snapping at and baiting each other was one thing. One very big thing. But since they became friends, he’d been thinking about her. A lot. At night. In bed. And he wanted more than friendship.

But did she?

And so soon after the Bill Debacle?

His brain felt sore.

‘I’m off to the Wizards,’’ he told Alister. ‘Can you get me another ale, mate? Put it on my tab.’

‘Yeah, right-o,’ Alister said, summoning the barkeep.

After putting in an order for two frothy mugs (he put one for himself on Draco’s tab), he turned around to find the object of his lust standing right next to him. ‘Hermione!’ he crowed in joy.

Hermione looked rather startled at his effusive greeting, but said ‘Hey, Alister,’ nonetheless. ‘Have you seen Draco? I want to congratulate him on becoming Head Boy.’

Alister sniffed. ‘He’s gone to the toilet,’ he stated baldly. ‘But never mind him, how are you?’

‘Uh, well, good, thanks’ –

‘That’s a lovely top you have on,’ Alister leered. He was so close she could smell his beer breath.

‘Er, thanks,’ she replied, leaning back.

‘Do you know where it would look really lovely?’ Alister waggled an eyebrow.

‘Uh, no?’

‘On my bedroom floor!’ he brayed, and planted a wet kiss on Hermione’s mouth. With tongue.

Draco, making his way back to the bar, saw the whole thing.

Totally grossed out, Hermione stepped back, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, then wiping her hand on her skirt. ‘You’re out of line, mister!’ she snarled.

He laughed, not very nicely. ‘Oh, come on!’ he countered. ‘All these weeks you’ve been wearing tight tops and short skirts and hanging around me and my friends. Of course you want me! You could hardly want any of _them._ ’

Smoke practically poured out of Hermione’s nostrils. ‘Firstly, I should be able to wear anything I damn well like without having to put up with lewd conjecture from the likes of you. Secondly, I’ve been hanging around you and your friends because I like _do_ one of them, you berk!’

‘What?’ Alister found this revelation rather hard to fathom. ‘Who?’

Hermione saw Draco approach, looking like he wanted to rip all of Alister's limbs off. She took a deep breath and stepped up to him, put her arms around his neck, and kissed him.

 

*****

 

Was Draco dreaming?

If he was, then dear, sweet Merlin, don’t wake him up!

To say that Draco was a tad surprised by this turn of events would be an understatement, but a nanosecond later, he’d caught up with the play. His hands wrapped around Hermione’s waist and drew her in close. It was clear that he approved of her direct approach. Very much.

They both smiled a little sheepishly as they parted, oblivious to the wolf whistles, hoots of derisions and applause that swirled around them.

‘Surprise,’ Hermione murmured.

‘Great surprise!’ Draco responded.

At the Curse-Breakers table, Fleur clapped heartily with a beaming smile on her beautiful face, while Bill, who felt obliged to stand in as Hermione’s protective older brother, sighed and shook his head. A Malfoy inside The Burrow! It’ll be flying pigs, next.

Eventually Draco and Hermione became aware of something annoying flapping around them.

‘I say, look here!’ complained Alister, his robes askew. ‘Really, Malfoy, if you wanted to shag her all this time, you should have tipped the wink. I wouldn’t have bothered to pursue the chit, otherwise.’

Actually, that was a bald-faced lie, but Malfoy wasn’t to know, was he?

Draco released a hand from Hermione’s lovely, warm waist and clenched it into a fist.

‘Want to go somewhere quieter?’ Hermione shouted to Draco above the bar’s hubbub.

‘Gladly!’ he replied, taking her hand. ‘Just one quick thing before I go.’

With his clenched fist, he socked Alister right in his aquiline nose, sending him tumbling to the floor.

Hermione’s eyes grew to the shape of saucers as once again, the bar patrons erupted into cheers, hoots and applause.

‘Don’t ever speak that way about Hemione again,’ Draco said calmly to his now former boss.

As the pair stepped over Alister’s prone body, the barkeep hustled over and peered over the bar at the sad sack with the bleeding nose. ‘Oi!’ he called angrily to Draco. ‘You know what the rules are about using unnecessary magic in this tavern!’

‘No worries,’ Draco grinned. ‘No magic used!’

And with that, the new couple sailed upstairs.

 

*****

 

‘Would you like a Muggle or magical remedy for your hand?’ Hermione asked Draco once they’d locked her door, warded it and put up charms that silenced their room and muffled the din from downstairs.

‘Nah, I’ll be fine,’ he replied, sitting on her bed and inspecting his hand. That’s not to say it didn’t hurt a little. But it was a good type of hurt.

‘Well, your advice worked,’ Hermione smiled as she sat next to him. ‘So far, the success rate of using the direct approach is one hundred percent.’

‘So far?’ Draco complained, pretending offence. ‘This was the one and only time you needed to try it, young woman.’ He pulled her in to his side for a hug.

‘Oh, really?’ Hermione smiled, moving on to his lap and straddling it.  

‘Count on it,’ Draco murmured as he settled her legs either side of his and brought his lips to hers.

 

***** 

 

**A bit later**

A bit more dishevelled, the happy pair lay on the bed, talking a bit; kissing a bit; exploring a lot.

‘What did you think of your internship?’ Hermione murmured.

Draco shook his head. ‘I can categorically confirm that I will never pursue a career in Foreign Exchange,’ he said. ‘I’ve no idea why Mother signed me up for it in the first place.’ He placed his lips on Hermione’s bare shoulder. ‘How about you? Is curse-breaking your dream job?’

She snuggled into Draco’s equally-bare chest. ‘It was fun,’ she pondered, ‘but what I liked best was cataloguing all the stuff in Bill’s office.’

‘Huh? You mean, all that boring librarian stuff?’ Draco knew Hermione was a swot, but this is taking things to the extreme, isn’t it?

As if she heard his thoughts, she pulled herself up and eyeballed him. ‘Librarians can still be fun,’ she said primly. ‘And adventurous. And sexy.’

Draco tried to resist, but the image of Madam Pince, Hogwarts’ authoritarian librarian, blossomed in his head. ‘I’ll take that under advisement,’ he said doubtfully.

An idea occurred to Hermione. ‘Stay here,’ she said, kissing him. ‘I want to test a theory.’

Draco made himself more comfortable on the bed by loosening the fastening of his pants.

Hermione headed to the dressing table in her skirt and bra (not black, but red, a substitute Draco was more than happy with) and quickly piled up her curls with a butterfly clip. Then she took her hairbrush and transfigured it into a pair of half-moon glasses. Fixing them on her face, she checked her reflection in the mirror and turned around.

Leaning a hand on the dressing table behind her, she pulled the glasses down her nose and pretended to peer primly at Draco. ‘What do you think?’ she purred. ‘Sexy? Or not?’

If his pants weren’t still on, she’d easily have her answer.

Propped up on an elbow, Draco smirked and conceded ‘You have me, Miss Granger.’

Miss Granger grinned, then looked down at her state of half-undress. ‘Of course, this probably isn’t what librarians wear under their robes.’

‘Well, you never know. You could start a trend.’

Hermione smiled slowly. ‘You’re right. I could.’

With that, she unzipped her skirt, letting it fall at her feet.

Draco gulped. He made a note to look out for that smile more often.

Clad in panties, bra and half-moon glasses, Hermione walked slowly over to the bed.

‘Mr Malfoy,’ she said mock-severely, ‘you have several library books overdue. What do you have to say for yourself?’

‘Praise Merlin!’ he replied fervently, and reached out for her.


	7. September

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Returning to school on the Hogwarts Express

Ron opened a bleary eye and squinted at the door to carriage as it slid open. ‘Hermione?’ he yawned. ‘That you?’

Harry and Ginny were quicker on the uptake and leapt over Ron’s ridiculously long legs to draw Hermione into a bone-crushing group hug. ‘Here you are at last!’ Harry gushed, hugging her tight.

Ginny kissed her cheek. ‘I swear, the holidays were mental without you.’

Ron pulled himself to his feet and hugged her. ‘They seemed fine to me,’ he said. Home, Mum’s cooking, Quidditch – what’s to complain about?

Hermione hugged him back. ‘It’s so good to see you all!’ she cried, until she clocked the other creature in the booth. ‘Oh. Hi, Lavender.’

‘Hi, Hermione!’  Lavender didn’t bother getting up from her seat. Since Hermione was going to be Head Girl, they didn’t have share a dorm this year. Which would have been rather awkward, what with her shagging one of Hermione’s best mates.

‘How was Gringotts?’ Ginny asked, settling back into Harry’s lap. ‘You were so excited about it before you left! Did it live up to your expectations?’

Hermione smiled, one the trio had never seen before, truth be told. ‘It was very challenging, but ultimately, very rewarding.’ Then, changing the subject, she asked ‘How are Molly and Fleur getting on?’

Ginny laughed. ‘Mum’s over the moon about the wedding! I doubt Fleur will have to lift a finger to organise any of it! I’m going to be a bridesmaid! So cool!’

Hermione checked the time. ‘I can’t stay,’ she said apologetically. ‘There’s just so much to do as Head Girl already! I haven’t even gotten into my school robes yet!’

‘Congratulations!’ Harry smiled warmly. ‘You’ll be one of the best Head Girls ever! I know it.’

‘Your own Head common room!’ Ginny sighed enviously.

‘Absholutelich,’ Ron mumbled, his mouth full of food, as was the norm. ‘Whosh the Head Boy?’

Hermione gave him a cool look. It seemed his table manners hadn’t improved over summer. ‘Once you’ve finished scoffing everything in sight, Ron, come down to the front carriage, in uniform,’ she sniffed. ‘We’re having a Prefects meeting in fifteen minutes.’ With a ‘see you later’ to Harry and Ginny, she closed the carriage door and was off.

‘It’s not fair!’ Ron sulked. ‘Can’t a man enjoy a train ride in peace these days?’

Lavender, however, had spotted an opportunity, since Harry and Ginny seemed glued to their seats. ‘Come on, Ron-Ron,’ she cooed. ‘Let’s find a place where you can get changed into your robes.’

Ron stared at Lavender’s eyebrows, wiggling meaningfully, until the knut dropped. ‘Oh! Yeah, great idea, Lav.’ He made a show of gathering his things, and the pair exited the carriage.

‘Finally,’ Harry muttered. ‘Some time to ourselves without Lav-Lav.’

‘Let’s make the most of it, then,’ Ginny suggested as she pulled him in for a kiss.

Their school robes can wait for later.

 

*****

 

'Bloody hell, would you believe it?’ Lavender snapped, staring at the door of the last toilet door on the train. ‘Every Godric-forsaken toilet on the train is occupied! Where are we going to shag now?’

Ron took matters into his own hands. Banging on the door with his fist, he yelled ‘Will you hurry the bloody hell up in there? Some of us have got needs, you know!’

From within the toilet, a male voice swore. Then: ‘Keep your bloody knickers on, Weasel! I’ll just be a couple of minutes! Merlin’s tits, is privacy completely extinct, these days?’

Ron scowled at Lavender. ‘It’s bloody Malfoy, of course,’ he groused. ‘Probably inspecting every strand of hair on his head.’

Inside the toilet there was a thump, followed by a distinctly female ‘Shh!’

‘And he’s got one of his slags with him. There’s a surprise!’ Ron added, utterly failing to make the connection between Malfoy using the conveniences for torrid use and himself wanting to use the conveniences for his torrid use. Luckily, Lavender didn’t make the connection, either.

Eventually, the toilet door opened, and Draco stepped out, looking reasonably neat and presentable, except his tie was askew and his hair was mussed. Sexily mussed, of course.

Then Hermione appeared behind him, fixing her lip gloss and straightening her skirt.

Ron and Lavender’s mouths fell open.

Hermione fixed Ron with a basilisk stare. ‘One of his slags, am I?’ she snarled.

‘I – uh – I – um –‘ Ron stuttered.

She turned to Draco, straightening his tie. ‘You promised to stop calling Ron ‘Weasel’ for me,’ she murmured.

Draco drew her close for a kiss. ‘No, I promised to _think_ about not calling him ‘Weasel’ for you,’ he corrected. ‘Baby steps, love. Rome wasn’t built in a day.’

Holding hands, they headed to the corridor. ‘You’ve got five minutes, Ron!’ Hermione called over her shoulder. ‘If you’re going to shag Lavender, better make it quick. If you’re late to the Prefect’s meeting, I’ll deduct House points.’

Then they were gone, Draco’s laughter echoing down the corridor.

Lavender glanced at Ron’s face. It was turning a nice shade of plum. She had a lipstick in that colour.

‘W-what the hell just happened?’ Ron roared. ‘Our Hermione with that – with that _cretin!_ ’

‘That Head Boy cretin!’ Lavender agreed.

‘What?’ Surely Ron had mis-heard. Did she say...?

‘Malfoy’s Head Boy! He had the Head Boy pin on his robes,’ Lavender replied. ‘Didn’t you see it? Ron-Ron? Ron-Ron??’

But poor Ron-Ron had passed out cold on the floor.

 

The End

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading my little tale! Hope you liked it.  
> Some will have noticed the lack of smut, particularly between Draco and Hermione. I thought the story lended itself better to ambiguity: did they or didn't they? You decide!  
> Yours,  
> NeverNik x


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